OK, so this is my first blog post in the past 30 years. I have no regrets but it's good to be back. I've traveled the seven seas (or two of them), said hello to Southeast Asia and emerged from winter break well rested and with a newfound irritability towards small children.
I don't think I've grasped just yet how much I've changed since coming to Korea. And despite the warnings, I never realized how much of a "process" living abroad would be. Coming in, everything in Korea was bright and new and shiny--like a newborn baby grabbing every finger and glistening object he can get his hands on. Only in my case it was kimbap and soju. It's like your first time to the pool on your second birthday. You probably don't remember everything, but you splashed, you giggled, you pissed in the shallow end and probably swallowed a bit too. I kept this pace up for a
long time.The weather was great and the water just the right temperature.
Embedded in this outlook, this newfound excitement, is seemingly infinite patience for silly foreigners, obnoxious children, and old ladies talking to you for five minutes knowing damn well you don't understand a word they're saying (or maybe they just don't care, its all the same to you anyway). Somewhere between 3 and 5 months off the boat and waste deep in the water, you veer downhill. Down a long, windy, and potentially lonely road to the deep end. Apathy sets in. Suddenly old ladies pushing you to get on the bus just doesn't have that same charm that it did before. Patience wanes, and eventually you start avoiding interaction all-together. Annoyance turns to aversion and lo and behold, even the site of small children triggers the fight or flight response.
The notorious "hello, hello, hello....!!!" leaves you grasping for an invisible 9-iron. Thank god for those swimming lessons: orientation, classes, the gym, whatever you want to call it, because the water's choppy over there and no matter how far, how hard you stretch, the bottom remains elusive. Sure, you can psychoanalyze yourself, collect your thoughts and re-nogociate that impenetrable mindset. But you're still treading water in a foreign land, bobbing up and down grasping for air. In my case, vacation didn't come a moment too seen. A week in Hong Kong afforded a deep breath before another plunge back under. Christmas with friends in Seoul was wonderful. If only I could feel my toes because that time of year the water gets damn cold. Then, suddenly, the site of my parents--a welcome small piece of America--lets me grab the side of the pool before the current drags me under again. All the same with Japan, only this time I've got a taste for the fresh air. Even six days back under leaves my legs numb, seeing stars as I hold my breath looking up at the opaque surface. At least now I've found the bottom. So I leave, and I don't look back. Cebu, Boracay, Bangkok...finally time I've found the ladder and the rungs are plush and cushioned.
March 1. I stare back into the pool. There's the shallow end on one hand--but somehow it just doesn't have the same charm and fascination it did when I was a kid. And maybe I'll get self-conscious splashing around with rubber floaties on my arms. Nah, the water's getting nice this time of day. The sun's sinking down on the horizon so I shouldn't get too burnt. I think I'll just dip my feet in. I've got a beer in one hand and a book in the other. I can hang low, relax for three months. Soon I'll head back to work, next door. Only this time I get to be the life guard. Sure, I've got to climb a few steps to get up into the bird's nest. The say the training is brutal and the hours long. But I hear the view is
great. And I can dive back into the water any time I want. At least now I know how to swim.
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